The Quiet Mother

14

Konrád had switched off his mobile, and when he switched it back on, he saw that Eygló had called twice. He decided to call her back even though it was late in the evening. She was quick to answer, and asked if he could stop by her place in Fossvogur. She’d found out what they’d suspected, that their fathers had started collaborating again, and now she knew what they’d been up to.

She welcomed Konrád, poured a glass of red wine for him, and told him about the widow in Hafnarfjörður whom they’d tried to fleece. Their fathers. That they’d held a séance in order to cheat a gullible widow. And not just her. Her son, that Böðvar, had mentioned a friend of the widow’s named Stella, who probably would have been no less easy prey for the fraudsters. Eygló said that she’d gone to the Society for Psychical Research in search of information about this Stella and discovered that a woman by that name had several connections to the society. Late that afternoon, Eygló had found out that she’d died many years ago.

Konrád listened silently to his friend. He and Eygló had often talked about their fathers, and once he’d angered her by daring to insinuate that her father may have played a role in his father’s death. At the very least, it couldn’t be ignored that their collaboration may have led to Engilbert or someone on his behalf having stabbed Konrád’s father to death. Konrád had nothing to go on other than that the two men had possibly started in again on swindling money from people. She always maintained that Engilbert had been compelled into the collaboration during the war years, and felt awful about it. Konrád’s father had been the kingpin in their scheme, a thug whom even Engilbert feared and dared not provoke. Engilbert was an incorrigible drinker who was practically destitute, so Konrád’s father must have coerced Engilbert into depending on him again and using him at will.

Such were the things they discussed about the two men: Eygló’s father, who’d left nothing behind for her but questions and sorrow, and Konrád’s father, who’d sown in his son’s mind only anger and bitterness. In a strange way, their fathers’ shared story had brought them together, as different as they were otherwise. She, open to the unexplained because of the things she’d experienced and her psychic abilities. He, a law-enforcement officer who believed only in what he could see and touch. Konrád tried not to let her sense how little faith he had in everything that had shaped her world. Eygló tried to hide from him what a limited view of life and existence she thought he had. Yet their different views didn’t sunder the two, and they knew each other well enough to be able to see the humorous side of the contrasts between them.

It was past midnight when Konrád put down his glass and said he needed to get going.

‘It might be possible to talk to some of that Stella’s relatives,’ he said. ‘Let me know what you decide to do, will you?’

‘I will,’ said Eygló, showing him to the hall, where he’d hung his jacket in the cupboard. ‘It wasn’t so long ago that I went online and looked up articles about the murder,’ she added.

‘Yes, I did a bit of that myself.’

‘Have you thought about tracking down the photographers who were there? I’m sure only a fraction of the photos appeared in the newspapers. There must have been a lot more taken at the scene. It might be possible to get a look at them. If they still exist. Naturally, not everyone is as interested in keeping such things.’

‘Yes, of course. The idea occurred to me, too,’ Konrád said. ‘For a long time, it was the same photographers year after year who eavesdropped on the police channels and even beat us to the crime scene.’

‘Why do I feel the need to ask you about the smell of smoke?’ Eygló said as he slipped on his jacket.

‘Smoke? Maybe you’re smelling Marta’s e-cigarette?’

‘Is that what it is?’

‘Or my cigarillos? I smoked too many of them, sitting in my car tonight.’

‘You brought it in with you. Quite a strong odour. But it’s not...’

‘Unless it’s the smoking kilns?’ Konrád smiled as if the suggestion was far-fetched. ‘At the slaughterhouse. I talked to the woman who found Dad,’ he added. ‘I forgot to tell you that.’

‘So you went to see her? Did you learn anything?’

‘Not much. She’s a very nice woman and it was good to talk to her, but it added nothing significant. Although she did say that the smoking kilns down on Skúlagata had been running. I didn’t know that.’

‘I don’t remember any smoking kilns. But then I knew nothing about the Butchers’ Association slaughterhouse.’

‘No. I remember them quite well, there on Skúlagata.’

‘Does it matter that they were running?’

‘Hardly. They were a part of the normal operations there. They were fired up earlier in the day, long before my father was attacked. I can’t imagine it was of any importance to the investigation, and it was never mentioned in the reports. But it kind of gave me a stronger sense of how little time had passed from when he was attacked until Helga, that is, the witness, came across him. He was still alive, tried to say something, and then died right before her eyes. I knew that, of course, but talking to her about it made it all clearer.’

‘Which means?’

‘That the murderer couldn’t have got far. He was either on the next street over or hiding down at the shore. The sea came up to Skúlagata in those days.’

‘And snuck away from there?’

‘I’ve sometimes wondered about that. He had to be in the immediate vicinity.’

‘But she didn’t see him?’

‘No, she didn’t see anyone.’

Konrád hesitated, standing there at the door.

‘It’s best that I get going,’ he said. ‘Unless you...’

He looked at Eygló.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Unless you have more... wine,’ Konrád said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, then I could... stay a bit longer... if you want,’ he said, stepping closer to her.

‘No, I don’t think so, Konrád,’ said Eygló, smiling at his attempt. ‘I don’t think I have anything more for you tonight.’

‘Are you sure?’

Eygló nodded.

‘Fine, then... I’ll just say goodnight,’ said Konrád, backing out the door and shutting it behind him.